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By Charles Nelson Johnson 



Chicago, Illinois 
1919 












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By Charles Nelson Johnson 



Chicago, Illinois 
1919 



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By 

Gbari^s Nelson Johnson 



CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 

1919 






Copyright iqiq 
By C. N. Johnson 



i^EG 27 1919 

©CI,A559222 



CONTENTS 

My Creed 3 

My Tree 5 

Parading One's Ailments 8 

Kindness lo 

Beauty In Nature 12 

Thoughts 13 

Strictly Personal . . ; 15 

Motive 18 

The Mistletoe and Holly 20 

A Man's Duty 22 

The Power of Non-Resistance 24 

The Value of the Home 26 

My Prayer 2q 

My Letters 31 

Patience 33 

The Miracle of The Buds 3 j 

I Wouldn't 37 

Perseverance 40 

An Open Letter to the Trained Nurse .... 42 
Seeing The Other Fellow's Point of View . 46 

Wanted — A Sense of Integrity 48 

My Pledge 51 

The Old Home 53 

A Cure for the Blues 56 

Respect the Rights of Others 58 

The Good Which Men Do 60 

The Great American Crime 62 

Nursing A Sorrow 65 

When I Grow Old 67 

The Larger Vision 70 




An -Explanation 

l)HERE is really very little to justify 
the publication of this book. It is 
not in any sense humorous, nor is it 
calculated to "while away an idle 
hour" — as if perchance any one ever 
had an idle hour in this the twentieth century. 
It is not exciting or absorbing in theme — it 
just drifts. There is no sequence of thought 
or sentiment, no connection between the topics 
— it is thrown together. It does not tell a 
story, nor "adorn a tale." It would seem 
therefore that it had little to recommend it. 

And yet there is supposedly a reason for 
everything under the sun, and so there must 
be a reason for putting forth this book. It is 
this : Most of these brief essays have appeared 
in magazines and some of the author's friends 
have become familiar with them through this 
medium. Frequently it has chanced that they 
have written the author asking where certain 
articles could be found. These requests have 
been so generous and so cordial that the author 
has finally felt that he might venture — even at 
a seeming sacrifice of modesty on his part — to 
gather the articles into a volume. 

This is the sole purpose of their publication. 
They are intended only for the author's friends 
— a message from him to them — a "hand- 
clasp." Even in this limited sense they are 
sent out with much misgiving. 

C. N. J. 

Chicago, 1919. 



Page One 




My Creed 

BELIEVE in allowing others to believe 
as they wish, provided their belief 
works no injustice to their fellow man 
or fellow beast. I believe in patience, 
in consideration, in kindness — above 
all, I believe in kindness. I believe the world 
owes every man a living — when he earns it, 
but not otherwise. I believe in goodness, but 
not the goody good. I believe in the rugged 
kind which digs deep down into the heavy 
hearts of humanity and drags out the misery 
and sorrow and discouragement, and plants 
the flowers of hope and happiness — and then 
says nothing about it. I believe in one good 
act more than in a million sermons. I believe 
in doing more than in saying. 

I believe in correcting a wrong, but not in 
harboring revenge. I believe in charity, but 
not in alms. I believe in helping others to 
help themselves, but I do not believe in creat- 
ing paupers by a false philanthropy. I believe 
in strength of character and simplicity of taste. 
I believe in morals, but not in moralizing; in 
practice, but not in preaching; in culture, but 
not in cults. I believe in humility, but not 
the humility which makes a man look down 
instead of up. I believe in hope, but not the 
hope which takes everything for granted and 
trusts to luck. I do not believe in going out 
to look for trouble, but I believe in meeting an 
issue face to face instead of hiding your head 
in the sand. 

I do not believe in worry, but I do believe 
in taking thought of the morrow, for I have 
never yet seen a morrow which wholly took 
care of itself. I do not believe in letting the 

Page Three 



other fellow do all the worrying, because to do 
that is to acknowledge yourself something less 
than a cog in the wheel. 

I believe in the good old times — which are 
now, and will be a thousand years after you 
and I are dead. I respect the past, but I 
believe the world is becoming better. I believe 
in idolatry, but not of graven images. I believe 
in the worship of men, women and little 
children; of truth, justice and loving kindness. 

I do not believe in killing people, either in 
passion or by sanction of the law; either in the 
war of nations or the war of trade. I believe 
in giving every man a chance to live and make 
good. I believe in the gospel of work, but 
not in the greed of gain; in the sanctity of 
labor, but not in the degradation of drudgery. 

I believe in wealth, the wealth of ideas, of 
knowledge — the priceless heritage left us by 
the intellect of all the ages. I believe in the 
fundamentals of civilization, but not in the 
frills of society. I believe in sunshine, pure 
air and cheerfulness. I believe in the glorious 
out-of-doors, and in the sacredness of the soil. 
I believe in the hallowed portals of the home, 
and the communion of the family fireside. 

I believe in the blessed Trinity of Love, 
Laughter and Liberty, for where these three 
dwell there is happiness. I believe in living 
each day with all my heart, with all my soul, 
with all the powers that in me lie so that the 
world may be better for my living. And this 
then is my creed, to have no creed save that of 
doing good and being kind — of doing good all 
the time and being kind all the time, now, 
henceforth and forever. 

"So many dogmas, so many creeds. 
So many paths that wind and wind, 
When just the art of being kind 
Is all this sad world needs." 

Page Four 



My • Tree 




HAVE a tree somewhere by the road- 
side — the exact spot does not matter. 
We are the greatest of friends, and I 
go to see my tree every summer. If 
a season should pass wherein I was not 
permitted to visit it, I should count it quite 
a calamity — so also I am sure would the tree. 
I do not remain long with my tree when I visit 
it; in fact, I merely drive past it on the high- 
way. But we are so well acquainted, and 
understand each other so perfectly, that we 
visit a vast deal in that brief space. 

The moment my horse's ears are seen bob- 
bing up over the rise of ground approaching 
the spot, this beautiful leafy friend of mine 
begins to exhibit unmistakable evidences of a 
delightful agitation. It sends me a salute as 
far as it can see, and grows more and more 
demonstrative as I approach, till by the time 
I am quite come up with it the air is fairly 
musical with its ode of welcome. 

It begins with a rushing swell as if tuned 
by the mighty Jove, then sighs softly into a 
whispering melody full of the sweet secrets of 
buds and birds, and sinks at last into a hushed 
suspense, tremulous with emotion. Then again 
in rhythm with a sweep of the wind it breaks 
out into a rousing chorus of acclaim, and 
frantically waves overhead a myriad bright 
little banners in honor of the occasion. Oh, 
what a moment is this for me as I slowly pass 
by my tree and see all the excitement and 
celebration because of my coming ! 

If it were not that people might account 
me mad — people who do not understand the 
beautiful sentiment of trees — I should assuredly 
raise my hat and wave it in answer to the 

Page Five 



splendid tribute. As it is I must content 
myself with uttering a softly murmured beni- 
son, and although the words are seldom fairly 
spoken, yet the tree knows full well what I 
mean, and bids me Godspeed in turn. Its 
farewell bow as I meet a bend in the road — a 
bow graceful as ever were made in my lady's 
parlor — sends me lighter hearted on my way, 
and makes me feel a better man because of 
having had this communion with the tree. 

The last time I passed the spot I was 
pained to find that some miscreant — some 
defiler of things divine — had, with an ax, cut 
a great gash in the side of my tree, leaving an 
ugly scar, with traces of tears running down 
its trunk. Poor, puny, insignificant man! 
clothed with a petty, transient power, I would 
that thou wert made to see the full measure of 
thine iniquity. 

Another man in years gone by — a man 
devoid of grace and harmony and tenderness 
of touch— was guilty, I find, of sinning against 
this tree. It was the man who took it upon 
himself to name it. He called it the hard 
maple! As if there were anything hard about 
such a tree as this — except the soundness of 
its heart. And even this must not apply, for 
while it may be sound hearted, I affirm it 
never can be accounted hard hearted. This 
tree is the softest, most musical, most beauti- 
ful of all trees, and had it been given me to 
name it — knowing as I do its wondrous charms 
of form and shade and sentiment — I should 
have called it a "poem in gray and green." 

A picture of this tree would show that it 
has a slight inclination toward the east, and I 
suppose the scientific reason for this would be 
advanced that the prevailing winds in this 
region are from the west or northwest. But I 
know a better reason than this. Familiar as 

Page Six - 



I am with the deep-seated sentiment which 
permeates this tree I have attributed its lean- 
ing in this direction to the fact that each 
morning it bows a graceful salute to the rising 
sun, and as habits leave their impress on all 
of us it is but natural to suppose that this 
beautiful tree after all these many years of 
bowing should bend toward the eastern sun. 

I could write chapters on the sentiment 
intertwined with this tree. I am a lover of 
the forest and the fields, of rocks and rivers, 
of hills and hollows, and the sweeping currents 
of the wind. I love the tangled growth of 
nature, and the serried ranks of golden grain. 
I love to listen to the songs of birds, and to 
the roaring of a torrent, to the hum of insects 
and the patter of the cooling rain. But above 
all I love a beautiful tree and this is the most 
beautiful one I ever saw. For years I have 
watched it, studied it and worshipped it. It 
grows a trifle more exquisite each time I see 
it, and I sometimes wonder when the limit is 
to be reached. It has led me to the study of 
other trees and I have found this study a never 
ending source of delight. Ride through the 
country in a carriage, an automobile or a rail- 
road train, and you will never lack for enter- 
tainment if you learn to study trees. Every- 
where in nature these beautiful banners of the 
fields are waving for your delectation, and they 
grow more and more interesting as you observe 
them closer. They are without money and 
without price spread out for the eye of the 
poorest wayfarer, and yet "Solomon in all his 
glory was not arrayed like one of these." 
Learn to love trees and you will never know 
what it is to be lonely. 



Page Seven 




Parading * One s • Ailments 



^T IS astonishing how many people really 
enjoy poor health. At least, they 
would appear to enjoy it from the way 
they roll each malady as a sweet morsel 
under the tongue. Go into any society 
where conversation is free and the chief topic 
is of the ills which flesh is heir to — particularly 
the flesh of those who are taking part in the 
conversation, or of some one they know, or of 
some one they have heard about. People are 
cosmopolitan in this respect — and liberal. 
They can discuss in the most generous manner 
the peculiar way in which Nebuchadnezzar 
Jones, who lives over in the next county, and 
whom they probably never saw, strained his 
great toe in an attempt to reach the garret 
with a stepladder. Or they can tell about 
their own petty mishaps with a gusto that 
would do justice to a worthier cause. 

They love to dote on the ills of life, and are 
perfectly extatic when they can recite the 
nauseating details of the most loathsome 
disease. In their minds a man is great only 
when he has been monstrously ill, or had some 
affection more profound than other people. 
To be sick is to be famous — and by the same 
token that is the only claim to distinction that 
many people have. 

Why not cease talking about sickness? If 
you only knew it there are very few people 
who are really interested in your small ail- 
ments, and if your ailments are serious, I know 
of only three classes of people to whom they 
appeal, the life insurance man, the physician 
and the undertaker. Their interest is of such 
a nature that you are not likely to be flattered 
with it if you knew it, and so it is best to keep 

Page Eight 



these things to yourself. A constant com- 
plainer is a nuisance to everyone around him. 

And this talking about disease all the time 
generates disease, because many of our mala- 
dies are purely mental. IngersoU said that if 
he had the regulation of things he would make 
good health catching instead of disease, but 
in this he was one degree off in his reckoning. 
Good health is catching just as surely as is 
disease, and it is the simplest matter in the 
world to learn how to catch it. But you can- 
not do it by magnifying your ills and bragging 
about your complaints — as if they lent dis- 
tinction to your individuality. 

I read somewhere about a cheery old man 
who was asked why he never complained of 
being ill. "Because I am ashamed of it," he 
answered. "If I am ever ill, I know it is be- 
cause I have violated some of the laws of nature 
and so I am deserving of censure rather than 
sympathy." This old man's philosophy niay 
have seemed far fetched, and yet it is im- 
measureably a better philosophy than the one 
of laying all our petty ills at the door of a 
kindly providence, and then piously holdmg 
our hands to high heaven and boasting martyr- 
like of our unique affliction. 

If you are sick do the best you can, but 
don't prate over it. If you must talk about 
your troubles, tell them to the physical police- 
man — the doctor. He will listen to you — 
sometimes— because he has a money interest 
in it. But between you and me he is half the 
time thinking how full of folly you are and 
"what fools these mortals be." 

Don't parade your ailments, and you will 
be healthier and happier. So will those who 
are obliged to listen to you. 



Page Nine 



Kindness 




OFTEN wonder why people do not 
make a wider use of the marvelous 
power there is in kindness. It is the 
greatest lever to move the hearts of 
men that the world has ever known — 
greater by far than any thing that mere 
ingenuity can devise, or subtlety suggest. 
Kindness is the king-pin of success in life, it 
is the prime factor in overcoming friction and 
making the human machinery run smoothly. 
If a man is your enemy you cannot disarm 
him in any other way so quickly or so surely 
as by doing him a kind act. The meanest 
brute that ever drew breath is not altogether 
insensible to the influence of kindness. Of 
course it takes a strong man — the very strong- 
est in fact — to do a kindness to the man who 
has wronged him, and yet there is no other 
way of so certainly bringing about restitution. 
Not only this, but it develops additional 
strength in the man who does it. 

Like begets like, and hate generates hate. 
We all recognize this because it is every day 
borne in upon us by the contentions of human 
kind. Every lawsuit testifies to it, every 
hotly contested political campaign, every 
occasion when men meet in conflict for indiv- 
idual preference. If this is true, then it must 
hold that kindness begets kindness. In fact, 
kindness accumulates at the rate of compound 
interest, and it is the only investment I know 
in which the principal is absolutely safe and 
the interest 100 per cent — payable in advance. 
I say payable in advance, because no man ever 
started out to do a kind act who was not 
rewarded for it in his own consciousness, even 
before he lifted a hand. The mere resolve to 
be kind carries with it its own reward, and 

Page Ten 



starts in the individual a mental and moral 
growth that cannot be computed. 

And the peculiar thing about it is that the 
power of kindness can be exercised by the 
lowliest as well as the highest. The king upon 
the throne has no more privilege in this respect 
than the digger of ditches, and there is no other 
factor in human life so well calculated to de- 
stroy the distinctions of caste as this. Kind- 
ness makes the whole world kin. It breaks 
down the barriers of distrust, deceit, envy, 
jealousy, hate, and all their miserable train. 

And it is so cheap. The miser's pile is not 
lessened by its use, and the poorest of the 
poor can employ it in reckless profusion. It 
grows by what it feeds on, and its food costs 
nothing. 

Kindness is the most valuable asset for the 
young man or young woman to begin life on, 
and the capital stock may be had for the ask- 
ing. Armed with kindness, with consideration, 
and with a determination to employ his tal- 
ents to the highest possible proficiency, and 
every young man can win his way in the world 
and gather strength to meet the emergencies of 
life as he goes. Each kind act is a threefold 
benefit, it helps the one who performs it, the 
one who receives it, and the world at large is 
the better for it. Heap up kindness and half 
the trouble of life would be smothered. If to 
substitute happiness for unhappiness is de- 
sirable, then kindness is its own justification. 



A man should he estimated not so much by the size of 
his hat as by the size of his heart. 

Page Eleven 




Beauty * In • Nature 

OFTEN wonder if we get the full 
measure of happiness intended for us 
through the medium of the marvelous 
beauty provided by mother nature. 
We are in such a hurry in these days, 
and so occupied with what we are pleased to 
call the material things of life that we do not 
sufficiently study the wondrous handicraft that 
grows up around us on all sides, even in the 
midst of city life. We are so absorbed in 
other matters that we are constantly passing 
by without a thought the very things that 
should most appeal to us in our search for the 
sublime and the beautiful. There is enough 
of beauty in a single tree to overwhelm an 
ordinary mortal with wonder, awe and rever- 
ence, if he but took the pains to study its 
outlines, its varying forms, its brilliant hues, 
and its never ending change from morn till 
night and night till morn. This is particularly 
true in the spring time when all of nature is 
fairly bursting with life and energy. And . 
what a carpet the earth and air have woven 
for the feet of man! Is there anything like 
grass to walk upon, or look upon, or lie upon? 
And what shall we say of the lakes, and rivers, 
and mountains, and valleys, each with its 
own individuality, each with its own tradition, 
and its own atmosphere? We do not study 
these things enough. We do not enter into 
the spirit of the marvelous miracle that 
nature is working before our very eyes at every 
turn of the tide, at every revolution of the 
cycle of the seasons. And we fall far short of 
getting the most there is in life when we fail 
to accept the bounty that nature has provided 
for us. 



Page Twelve 



Thoughts 




^F it is true that "thoughts are things'* 
then we should be very careful to 
guard the kind of thinking we do. 
It is undeniable that a man's method 
of thinking largely establishes his 
character. It is not altogether the things he 
does but the things he thinks which shape his 
destiny, because a man's thoughts must sooner 
or later dominate his actions. And if a man is 
to act rightly he must think rightly. I some- 
times believe that the power of secret thought 
is not fully appreciated by the average indiv- 
idual. Most people seem to imagine that it 
matters little what they think so long as they 
do not allow a bad thought to manifest itself 
in an open act. But this is a very great fallacy. 
A man can not long indulge in unworthy 
thoughts without sooner or later being thereby 
influenced in his actions, and even if he were 
able for an indefinite time to so control his 
acts that they failed to mirror his thoughts, 
there is an inevitable disintegration of moral 
and mental fiber following wrong thinking 
which saps a man's character and manifests 
itself in one way or another just so surely as 
a cause produces an effect. 

In every man's inner consciousness then 
there should be established as strict a monitor 
as if the eyes of the entire world were upon 
him, and it should be considered as highly 
essential to think good thoughts as to do good 
deeds. It is positively dangerous to do other- 
wise. Not that it is possible to prevent wrong 
thoughts from entering the mind at times. 
I do not believe there was ever an ordinary 
individual who was by nature so pure minded 
that an evil thought did not occasionally enter 
his mind. They seem to pop in on us without the 

Page Thirteen 



slightest provocation; it is often inconceivable 
whence they spring. They frequently take a 
very alluring guise, but if we are honest with 
ourselves we can not fail to recognize them for 
what they are, and the moment we recognize 
them we have a rigid duty to perform. If 
we can not prevent them from entering the 
mind we can at least expel them the instant 
they gain entrance, and this we should do 
resolutely and always. The surest way to 
prevent the mind from dwelling on bad thoughts 
is to keep it as constantly as possible occupied 
with good thoughts, and this is the safest road 
to contentment and happiness. 



A prolonged quarrel between two individuals may not 
prove that both are at fault, but if you listen to the story of 
each you will usually be convinced that they are. 

Page Fourteen 




Strictly • Personal 

WISH people would stop trying to save 
my soul. This is said with the utmost 
reverence, the greatest charity, and an 
entire absence of flippancy. It is 
merely a polite protest against a life- 
long persecution, and the fact that the perse- 
cutors have often been among my best friends 
does not necessarily lend enchantment to the 
scene. Ever since I can remember this inex- 
plicable thing called my soul has seemed to 
be the object of much solicitation on the part 
of many of my acquaintances. For this I 
suppose I should be thankful and flattered, 
and I can truly say that I am not ungrateful. 

But one of the chief difificulties of the situ- 
ation is that each has a separate method or a 
different formula for saving souls. One man, 
a very dear friend, claims that every night for 
the past twenty-five years he has never failed 
to carry my case to the throne of grace in 
prayer. If this is true, and I have no reason 
to doubt his word, that makes more than 9,000 
distinct supplications on my behalf by this 
one individual — which ought, if his method 
were effective, to save any soul, even a worse 
one than mine. But the peculiar thing is that 
in the quarter century that I have known him 
he has changed his ideas several times as to 
how souls should be saved. When I first met 
him he was a staunch 'Episcopalian, and then 
he become a Methodist. When last I saw him 
he had concluded that the Salvation Army 
method was the correct one, but now after a 
number of years he writes me that the churches 
are all astray, and that there is no true religion 
in any of them. What his present belief is it is 
difficult for me to understand, though he has 
tried faithfully to explain it to me. In any 

Page Fifteen 



event, he assures me that it is the only real and 
certain road to salvation, and I am wondering 
where I should have been today had I been 
won over by him when I first knew him. Of 
one thing I am sure, that I never could have 
kept pace with him in changing beliefs. 

And this is the trouble. There are so many 
plans of salvation that it is bewildering. One 
of the bitterest debates I ever heard was be- 
tween two ministers of the gospel over a ques- 
tion of creed. Each claimed to have proved 
his point beyond peradventure, and yet if what 
either said were true the followers of the other 
were straightway on their road to hell for 
unbelief. 

And I cannot see it that way — I sincerely 
and honestly cannot — and I have pondered a 
good deal upon it. I cannot think that hell is 
a question of belief, or that it is a place of 
abode. I believe in the heaven created by 
good works, but not in a hell fire kindled for 
eternity. It is too monstrous. 

I am not foolish enough to wish to jeopar- 
dize my future by a flippant disregard of any 
of the essentials. I think seriously upon these 
things, and the essence of all my thought is 
that to constantly do good and always be kind 
is the very best religion. This in spite of the 
fact that one of the last sermons I heard from 
the pulpit placed good works in the category 
of dross, and lauded belief — this particular 
minister's own belief, be it said — as the one 
essential to life everlasting. 

Well, may be so, but that is not my point 
of view. I am willing that the minister should 
believe that if he must, but I do not want 
him to insist that I shall believe it. For mere 
harmony's sake I should like to be able to 
believe as my friends want me to, but I should 
have to be a mental acrobat to keep in line 

Page Sixteen 



with all of them. No, the thing to do as I 
view it is for every man to live up to his highest 
possibilities in good and loving service, with an 
eye single to the greatest amount of happiness 
he can contribute to the world, and not con- 
cern himself too much about creeds, or beliefs 
— or unbeliefs. Above all, let him be charitable 
about the opinions of others, and let him not 
intrude his particular belief upon every pas- 
serby. 

To insist that others shall believe as you 
do is not only aiming at an impossibility, but 
in many instances it is offering an insult to 
the intelligence of those whom you seek to 
influence. 



We are what we are by virtue of countless generations 
before us, and yet now that we are here we owe it to all the 
coming generations to strive constantly for the best there is 
in us. 

Page Seventeen 




Motive 

CAN forgive a man almost anything if 
his motive is good. He may provoke 
me to desperation by his blunders, and 
make me almost despise him for his 
density, and yet I can forgive him if 
he means well. The designing man with a 
smug exterior but with a false heart is my 
especial detestation. Even the good he does 
carries with it an unsatisfactory savor. As I 
study the motives of men I am frequently 
reminded of that phrase in "Ecce Homo" — 
a book with a world of philosophy in it — "It 
is true that a good man does good deeds, but 
it is not necessarily true that he who does 
good deeds is a good man. Selfish prudence 
often dictates a virtuous course as unerringly 
as virtue itself." 

And when I see a man do another a good 
turn with all the while a hidden depravity in 
his heart and with an ulterior motive behind 
it, I am nauseated to the depths of my being, 
and shaken throughout my entire moral fiber. 
I care not how polished or accomplished a 
man may be, if he is not honest I want none of 
him. And the incomprehensible thing to me 
about most men with bad motives is that they 
so frequently delude themselves with the belief 
that they are deceiving the world as to their 
honesty. I do not believe it was ever the case 
that a man lived long in a community in close 
association with his fellows without at least 
some of them understanding his motives. We 
hear occasionally a blare of trumpets over the 
fact that a certain man has deceived a whole 
community by leading a double life, posing at 
one time as a moral, religious man and at 
other times sinking to the depths of degrada- 
tion, but the very excitement over such an 

Page Eighteen 



occurrence proves the rarity of it. And it is 
safe to conclude that even with the most skill- 
ful tactician — with these men whom the world 
heralds as having successfully played a double 
role — it is always the case that some few in 
the community understood perfectly their 
motives and are not surprised when the ex- 
posure comes. It is assuredly true that with 
most men motive is easily read, and sooner or 
later a man's motives form the basis of the 
estimate which the thinking people of the 
world place upon him. 



/ would rather have charity in my heart for the faults of 
others than to be the most righteous person in the world. 

Page Nineteen 




The" Mistletoe" and 
Holly 

AM sorry for the man or woman who 
ever gets too old to enter into the spirit 
of the blessed Yuletide season, or who 
sees nothing beautiful in the sentiment 
which yearly springs up in the hearts 
of people to bind them closer in a common 
sympathy. There is something about the 
Christmas time which appeals to the finer 
senses of humanity and makes it forget for a 
moment the sordid side of life and the other- 
while unconquerable greed of gain. And when 
this sentiment is summed up it will be found 
that aside from religious convictions, it re- 
volves for the most part around two ideas — 
the idea of home and the idea of childhood. 
And what is better than these two ideas? 
Home is the most sacred place on earth, and 
childhood is the sweetest and purest thing in 
existence. 

At Christmas time there is the universal 
home-coming on the part of the loved ones 
scattered here and there by the exigencies of 
modern life, and to gather once again around 
the old fireside and see reflected in the light of 
the glowing embers from the ancient Yule-log 
the faces of those best beloved is the sweetest 
sight this side the pearly gates. 

And the children — who among us is not 
made better by the radiant faces of the blessed 
little tots as they hug close the burnished 
toys and chatter so confidently of their 
patron saint, the dear, immortal Kriss Kringle? 
And who can escape the contagion of their 
happiness? Pity the man who is proof against 
this sort of infection, and who can look un- 
moved upon such a scene as this. Let us get 

Page Twenty 



together at this time of the year, and let us 
cherish more and more the beautiful sentiment 
typified by the event. Let us try if we may to 
divorce Christmas from the modern idea of a 
scramble for presents, and let us exchange love 
for love, and charity for charity, instead of 
bartering so fervently in material commodities 
on this especial occasion. Let us go back to the 
sentiment of home and childhood, and renew 
the memories of other days when life was less 
complex and not so careworn as it is to-day. 
Let us be simple in our tastes and happy in 
their fulfillment. 



/ hate persecution whether it be attributed to a man, a 
devil, or a god. 

Page Twenty-one 




A • Man s • Duty 

SOMETIMES find it exceedingly diffi- 
cult to determine the exact nature of a 
man's duty in many of the minor 
affairs of life as well as in those of more 
serious import. This relates not so 
much to moral obligations as to the material 
things of life which enter into everyday ex- 
perience. Moral duty seems to me self- 
evident and readily defined, but when it comes 
to worldly affairs I am sometimes greatly at 
sea. I find my convictions constantly changing 
according to my momentary point of view. 
For instance, I sometimes see a man who goes 
through life in the easiest possible manner, 
enjoying to the utmost everything that comes 
his way, and taking no thought of the morrow. 
He never worries, never hurries, never works 
too hard, never assumes responsibilities that 
are not thrust upon him. If he sees anything 
he wants he gets it if he has the money, and 
sometimes he gets it whether he has the money 
or not. He scorns to think of such a sordid 
thing as saving money. If he lives to be old 
and past the earning capacity of his better days 
he is frequently brought face to face with pov- 
erty, want and despair. If he dies in the prime 
of life he leaves his family or those dependent 
on him absolutely helpless, and a prey to the 
buffets and bitterness of the cold world. And 
when I see such an one I declare in my inmost 
soul that this man failed grievously in his duty, 
and that no man is doing right who does not 
enter seriously into the problem of providing 
for old age and of protecting those dependent 
upon him. In such moments I can see no 
kind of deprivation and self-discipline too 
great for a man to practice in his youth and 
early manhood to the end that his latter days 
shall be secure from want. 

Page Twenty-two 



And then again I see other men who strive 
and save, and deprive themselves of luxuries 
and even comforts, who make of life a serious 
struggle without a relaxing ray of recreation, 
always looking forward to the time when they 
shall have accumulated enough to be inde- 
pendent, and never willing to divorce them- 
selves a moment from business. And I some- 
times see one of these suddenly stricken down 
and snuffed out, leaving nothing behind him 
but a memory of toil and hardship. It would 
seem that there should be something in life 
for a man besides that, and at such a time I am 
led to believe that it is a man's duty to accept 
some pleasure in life as he goes along. 

Then in professional matters it is difficult 
to know what is exactly right. When I think 
of many of the problems which remain unsolved 
in my profession to-day I am overwhelmed by 
my apparent lack of duty in not setting my- 
self resolutely at work to solve them. In my 
own eyes I am at that moment a veritable 
beggar to absorb as much as I have from the 
profession and give so little in return. 

Probably before this conviction is twenty- 
four hours old I am suddenly brought up against 
another point of view, by being forced to com- 
pare the number of hours I give to the pro- 
fession as against those I devote to the ones 
who are near and dear to me in domestic 
relationship, and I must confess when this 
issue is raised I hedge the question. I never 
quite have the courage to contend for the pro- 
fessional side of the obligation when two or 
three pairs of brown eyes are searching my 
conscience in the matter. And, so, what is a 
man's duty? 

I sometimes think I have it answered by 
the trite phrase "a happy medium," but medi- 
ums are not always happy — and then it is so 
hard to know what is medium. 

Page Twenty-three 




The • Power • of * Non- 
Resistance 



AM frank to confess that I have a 
long way to travel yet before I can 
quite bring myself to subscribe to the 
doctrine of the Sage of Russia in which 
he urged that, no matter what an in- 
dividual does to you in the way of injury, you 
should make no resistance — at least you should 
not resist so as to injure the other. If I under 
stand the peasant Count correctly, there should 
be no such thing as punishment inflicted on an 
individual in the way of retaliation. Well, in my 
better moods I can come pretty nearly seeing 
it in this way myself, and, while there are some 
features of this theory which do not seem to 
fit into the necessities of every case, yet I 
most assuredly deplore anything in the nature 
of vengeance. This doing injury to people to 
"get even" with them has no place in my 
philosophy or my sympathy, and I often lament 
the misery which individuals bring upon them- 
selves and others by such a course. The trite 
old saying that "two wrongs never made a 
right" is as true as anything in morals and 
ethics can be. If you deliberately set at work 
to do a man an injury because he has done you 
one, or you fancy he has, you invariably inflict 
more harm upon yourself than you do upon him. 
This is as certain as it is that fire burns. 

The wonder of it is, to me, that people have 
not learned this truth long ago, and I am also 
in ceaseless amazement that many otherwise 
observant individuals fail to realize the subtle 
power there is in non-resistance. The mere 
statement of this principle would seem para- 
doxical, but a closer analysis and an extended 
observation of human events and of the motives 

Page Twenty -four 



of men will reveal the real force behind an 
attitude of calm self-control and lack of resent- 
ment in the face of injury. This does not imply- 
that if a mad man or a mad beast comes at 
you with intent to do you bodily harm you are 
to stand with folded arms and not defend your- 
self. But this self-defense should be limited 
to your own protection and not carried into 
counter-injury to the other through resent- 
ment. 

There are so many of the small affairs of 
life to which this principle of non-resistance 
applies that it seems strange that civilized 
people have not long ago learned the lesson. 
Take the one example of receiving an abusive 
letter from one who is stinging under a fancied 
wrong. The first impulse of human nature is, 
of course, to answer back in kind, and that is 
what the writer of the letter fully expects. It 
completely takes the wind from his sails for 
you to write a moderate, kindly-tempered and 
explanatory reply. He may swagger around 
among his friends and say that he "has brought 
you to time," but in his inmost heart he knows 
that he is the defeated party, and so do all his 
friends know it. And ever after he will be 
more afraid to attack you than if you had 
given him back what he sent. 

Kindliness and consideration will win every 
time over harshness and retaliation, and, 
besides, it is only along these lines that true 
growth of character can take place, either in 
the individual or the nation. 



Say the truth even if it hurts, but try to say it so that it 
will not hurt. 

Page Twenty-five 




The • Value * of • the • Home 



HOME is not a house, nor is a house 
necessarily a home. But a club or a 
boarding house is neither one thing 
nor the other and never can be. It 
may do as a place of last resort, or a 
temporary makeshift, but it is a poor place in 
which to think good thoughts or do good 
deeds. Imagine a man resolving to live a 
better life, in the hurly burly of a big hotel. 
Ten to one somebody will come along in the 
midst of his reverie, and ask him to have a 
drink — which they do say is not at all con- 
ducive to living a better life. 

The home is the sanctuary of the family, 
the place where the better impulses are born, 
and where the true growth of manhood is 
stimulated. If a man is not good in his home 
he is seldom good any place, but the reverse 
cannot be said because a man is sometimes a 
heathen Chinese in public, and a model of 
probity within the precincts of his own home. 
The home is the purifier of society, and the 
most stable asset of the commonwealth. With- 
out the home we would all be like a lot of 
passengers in transit through life. 

The man who buys a home and pays for it 
is anchored to something substantial in life. 
There is one spot at least that holds an especial 
interest for him, a place to which he can retire 
as a haven of refuge when all the rest of the 
world wearies him. No matter how tempest- 
tossed a man may be with conflicting interests 
outside, however severe the stress and strain 
of business cares or the nagging of an enemy, 
whatever may be said of him in public in the 
way of harsh criticism or unjust censure, the 
moment he reaches the confines of his own 

Page Twenty-six 



home he is certain of open-armed confidence 
and the solace which comes from being under- 
stood. The world may misjudge and malign 
a man, but at home he is estimated at his true 
worth. He is taken at par. His reputation 
is never discounted, and he is sure of receiving 
credit for everything if he makes good — some- 
times he is credited when he doesn't make very 
good. 

There is no place where Charity is so broad, 
or forgiveness so certain as in the home. "To 
know all is to forgive all," and in the home a 
man is known. 

The home is the sheet anchor of civiliza- 
tion. Think of the condition of any com- 
munity where most of the people consist of a 
floating population. There is nothing sub- 
stantial about such a place. To be stable, 
there must be community interest, and you 
cannot have such interest without the nucleus 
of the home. 

The defeated politician seeks his home after 
the contest with the certainty of finding com- 
fort and solace. There is no salve so effective 
in taking out the sting of defeat as the sym- 
pathy and cheer of the family circle. 

The successful politician or the great states- 
man comes to his home wearied from shaking 
hands with lines of people he never saw before 
and never expects to see again. He sinks down 
with a sigh of relief into his old familiar arm 
chair, placed conveniently with loving thought 
for his reception. His lame hand is let alone, 
and he receives kisses instead of shakes. What 
a relief! The homage of all the world is 
nothing compared to this. And so it is in 
every walk of life — the home is the one sure 
refuge in time of trouble or in time of triumph. 

You sometimes hear people prate about the 
expense and responsibilty of keeping up a home. 

Page Twenty-seven 



Fie, and fiddle-de-dee-dee! Don't you believe it, 
or if you believe it don't let it deceive you. If it 
is a responsibility for anyone it is for the wife 
and mother, and it is the kind of responsibility 
that every woman should welcome. There 
may not be so much glamor about it as there 
is in occupying the chair at a woman's club 
meeting, but there is a heap more common 
sense and comfort in it. It fits. 

Let every young man who looks forward 
to an old age of contentment and competence 
begin to look about early in life with the idea 
of establishing himself in a home. It will stay 
put, when everything else is scattered. 



The greatest luxury I know is to have ample time in 
which to do your work well. 



Page Twenty-eight 



My Prayer 




PRAY that I shall be patient — patient 
with the mistakes, the foibles, and even 
the sins of others. I pray that if I am 
wronged I shall be patient with the 
wrong-doer ; that I shall count all of the 
causes which led to the wrong; that I shall 
search faithfully to see if I may not in some 
manner have contributed to the wrong. I 
pray that my patience extends not to myself 
in case I do wrong to others, that the righteous 
indignation of my whole soul shall rise up 
within me to accuse me in all bitterness. 
I pray that I may have charity — not the 
blatant kind that builds edifices and dedicates 
them with blare of trumpet; but the kind that 
goes down deep into the aching hearts of 
humanity and forgives a false or wayward 
step. I pray that the sins of the fathers be 
not meted out to the sons, that the dismal 
heritage of disease and pain be banished from 
the generations of men. I pray that the pangs 
of hunger be not inflicted on the children of 
the poor, nor the pride of possession be the 
chief portion of the rich. I pray for the virtue 
of humility — not the humility of self-conscious- 
ness, but the humility of sacrifice and service. 
I pray for the blessing of work — not the agon- 
ized toil of helpless women and children 
through greed of gain, but the glorious privilege 
of doing for the sake of doing, of adding to the 
myriad means of human thrift and happiness 
and increasing day by day the material and 
moral welfare of the world. I pray for hope, 
that blessed balm of the human soul; for love, 
that elixir of the human heart. I pray for the 
rugged path of truth, the high hill of justice, 
and the boundless atmosphere of liberty. I 
pray for stress and storm, for heat and cold, 

Page Twenty-nine 



for light and darkness — for the constant change 
which holds within it the germ of virile growth. 
I pray for reverses to try the temper of my 
mind, that I may better bear the favors of 
fortune when they come. I pray for breadth 
of vision, for height of aspiration, and for 
depth of discernment. I pray for purity of 
thought — the mentor of our every act, the 
guardian angel of our deeds, and the star 
which keeps our faces forever turned toward 
the light — above all I pray for purity of 
thought. I pray for happiness, not the false 
and spurious happiness which grows in a 
heaven of lure and lust, but the happiness 
which falls as the gentle dew from the vine of 
virtue — the happiness which comes from doing 
good and being kind. I pray that I may be 
like other men, with the same hopes, the same 
desires, and the same trials — that there be no 
aloofness in my life. I pray that I may live 
and labor with my fellowman. I pray that 
I may be blessed with friends and companions; 
friendship the flower, and companionship the 
fruit of earthly experience. I pray that I may 
love and be loved as long as I live, that I may 
bask in the sweet savor of that rarest plant of 
human life, and close my eyes at last to the 
soothing melody of loving lips. 

And in praying for all of this I make the 
prayer to myself, knowing full well that the 
answer lies for the most part with the one 
who prays. 



// a day passes without making some one happier, it is 
a day wasted. 

Page Thirty 



My Letters 




HAVE a very large correspondence and 
some of my friends commiserate with 
me on what they call "the burden" of 
answering letters. But they don't know. 
The fact is that the motive behind 
most of my correspondence is selfishness — 
selfishness on my part. It is a selfish way I 
have of visiting with my friends. The world 
is so large now, and my friends are so scattered, 
that I find it impossible to visit with all of 
them by word of mouth, and so I take this 
means of keeping in touch with them. Next to 
the pleasure of seeing my friends personally 
is the great joy I have in receiving letters 
from them. I know of no more satisfying 
thing, in a way, than to sit down at my desk 
after a hard day's work and look over the letters 
my friends have been kind enough to write 
me. It refreshes me and makes me feel that 
life is worth the living. There is an indi- 
viduality in each letter, and I read each in a 
different mood. Some of them are from 
friends I have known for years, some from 
recent friends, and some from friends I have 
never seen. All are interesting. I read the 
letters from friends I know with a mental 
picture of the waiter before me as I read. I am 
actually visiting with him, and if the hours of 
the day were longer — or rather the hours of 
the night, because all my letter-writing is done 
at night — I would answer him back in a better 
way than I usually do (which is really no 
excuse at all, and I trust I am properly ashamed 
of it). I read the letters of the friends I have 
never seen with an imaginary picture of the 
writer, and some of them I am sure would smile 
if they knew the image I have of them in my 
mind. As I read these letters I often imagine 

Page Thirty-one 



the writer a perfect deity — which of course is 
ridiculous. 

The character of the letters I receive is as 
varied as are the writers. Some of the letters 
tell me of good fortune, of happiness, of hearts 
lightened and hopes high. With these I 
rejoice. Others tell me of disappointments, 
discouragements, and the blasting of hopes; 
and with these I sympathize. Some bring 
me word of bereavement and sorrows, and I 
mourn with these. Others tell me of domestic 
events, and particularly the arrival of babies. 
When one of these letters comes I instantly 
drop everything and write a note to the new 
baby. I have the distinguished honor of 
writing the first letter that many a baby has 
received, and while it has probably made little 
impression on the baby, yet it has done me 
worlds of good. 

Some of the pleas in the letters that come 
to me are unique, ranging from a request by 
a man of whom I had never heard to draw 
some plans for his new office, down to an 
offhand suggestion by another that he would 
like me to write an article for him that he 
might read it at a coming meeting. One man 
— bless his heart — honored me with a recital 
of his whole life history to the most minute 
detail, till I blushed and blushed at the con- 
fidences he reposed in me. I have many times 
since then wished that I might have the privi- 
lege of meeting that man. I confess to a real 
womanly curiosity to see what he looks like. 

And so it goes. In the quiet of many an 
otherwise discouraged and weary night I refresh 
my courage and my hope by communing with 
my absent friends. I am rested when I rise 
from my desk to go to bed — rested mentally 
and physically; and as I place my head upon 
the pillow I lift a benison for all of those who 
have been good enough to send me letters. 

Page Thirty-two 




Patience 



^F I HAD the training of every boy in 
the land one of the first lessons I should 
try to teach him would be to overcome 
impatience. How long it does take the 
average individual to learn this lesson, 
and how seriously handicapped an individual 
is in life till he has it learned. The proverbial 
impetuosity of youth is all right to get up 
steam with, but it requires the balance wheel 
of patience to make the machine run true. 
Whenever I see any one growing impatient and 
fuming because things do not go to their liking, 
I am impressed with the awful waste of energy 
and dissipation of power. Calmness always 
controls, but impatience perverts. It is invar- 
iably the patient man who wins in the end, 
and who lives the longest. 

If things do not work just right, keep cool. 
You will probably need all your reserve power 
to meet the situation without wasting it in 
impotent stamping. Battering your head 
against a brick wall hurts nothing so much as 
it does your head, and a moment's quiet 
reflection to steady your nerves is worth more 
than an hour's rampant rage. 

One of the chief demands for patience is in 
dealing with the public. All sorts and condi- 
tions of temperament confront the individual 
who comes in daily contact with the rank and 
file of humanity. Impatience with the foibles 
of people soon leads to inharmony, inharmony 
to disagreement, disagreement to distrust, and 
distrust to hate. You simply cannot hold 
people if you are impatient with them. When 
anyone of a trying temperament comes into 
your business life study his peculiarities and 
have patience. You can never control people 

Page Thirty-three 



unless you understand them, and you cannot 
understand them unless you study them. To 
do this in a way to search out the hidden 
springs of motive which impel their actions 
requires patience. 

And the best of it all is that the cultivation 
of patience is one of the most effective means 
of self-development. You can never hope to 
control others unless you can first control 
yourself, and the very effort to control yourself 
constitutes growth. To be patient is to grow. 

Lincoln was a patient man and so was 
Grant. Neither would have accomplished what 
he did — in fact, neither would have ever been 
heard of in the world — had it not been for this 
sublime quality. All really great men have 
been patient, though in some instances brief 
periods of impetuosity have temporarily hidden 
the larger attribute. The patience of Job — 
just his patience — has made his name immortal. 
We cannot all be immortal in the sense that 
Job was, but we can all try to be patient, and 
that is the first step to immortality. 

One of the best means of developing patience 
in dealing with people is to learn to look at 
the other man's point of view. Remember 
always that there are two sides to every ques- 
tion — sometimes many more than that — and 
if you put yourself in the other fellow's place 
and see the matter as he sees it, even if you do 
not agree with him, you are sure to be more 
patient with him. 

If humanity would learn this lesson there 
would be fewer lawsuits, less contention, 
greater harmony and more certain happiness. 
Strive to be patient — even with fools. They 
may not know they are fools. 



Page Thirty-four 




The • Miracle • of * The • Buds 



WONDER how many of my readers 
watch this miracle every spring. What 
a wondrous world of energy is repre- 
sented by the unfolding of every plant 
and shrub and tree. Think of the cir- 
culation carried from the moist and mellow 
earth up through the roots, trunks, limbs and 
stems. What a marvel of chemical affinity, 
the juices of the soil traveling skyward to the 
furthermost tips of the tiny branches and there 
mingling with the gases of the air to produce 
the miracle of bursting brown and then of 
livid green. How busy nature is when the 
royal frost king breaks his bonds and yields 
his sceptre to the wooing of the sun. One 
morning in middle March I passed a tulip bed 
where the gardener had scraped off the straw 
covering, and lo, there were tiny pink and red 
shoots two inches high puncturing the surface 
of the earth as valiantly as if there were no 
likelihood of another frost to come and nip 
their tender noses. I noticed that the gardener 
had left the winter covering convenient to be 
thrown over the bed again during the chilly 
nights that always come this time of year. 

I have sympathy with the man who said 
one spring day to his companion: "No, I am 
not going to work tomorrow. I am going out 
to the parks — the buds are coming out." But, 
after all, we do not have to go to the parks to 
see this miracle. If there is a tree anywhere 
in our vicinity, if there is a shrub, a bush, a 
vine — anything that bears leaves, we can fill 
our soul with the ecstacy of this phenomenon. 
Such an enfoldment, such an evolution, such 
a birth. The small, hard brown husks begin- 
ning to burst and the pale green forcing its 
way through the loving grasp of the tiny shell 

Page Thirty-five 



till it flutters before us a miniature leaf, then 
growing larger, larger, and yet larger till the 
shrub, however small, and the tree, however 
big, are filled with these beautiful banners of 
deepening green, waving their welcome to the 
passer by and preparing for the time when 
the midday sun is so hot that humanity needs 
the sheltering arms of the overhanging boughs. 

And think of it. In all the myriads and 
myriads of these leaves no two alike. What a 
stupendous variety of individuality. The mold 
immediately broken when each leaf is formed, 
and never another one to be formed like it. 
When the wonder of all of this fully breaks in 
upon a man it is enough to make him worship 
every leaflet upon every twig or towering tree. 

A study of nature is one of the things which 
brings a full hundred per cent upon the invest- 
ment — a hundred per cent of satisfaction — 
without the danger of being on the wrong side 
of the market and going down in the crash of 
a panic. If a man truly loves nature he has 
something in life to make it well worth the 
living. 



The most trying thing for an ambitious individual is 
to be obliged to follow some one who is too slow. 

Page Thirty-six 



I • Wouldn't 




>F I WERE you I wouldn't hold resent- 
ment — it doesn't pay. And that is not 
the only reason why I wouldn't. It is 
not manly or big, or brave, or right to 
hold resentment. It doesn't contribute 
to happiness, or create harmony, or help 
humanity. It harms yourself more than any- 
body else, but you are not the only one it 
hafms. It is a canker eating into your very 
soul and souring the sweetness of life — your 
own and others. It is never constructive, but 
always destroys, blights and blasts. You 
never "get even" with people who wrong you 
without lowering your own manhood. 

I wouldn't answer an abusive or unreason- 
able letter the same day I received it. It is 
always best to wait till the first flush of vexation 
is over, when the calmness of contemplation 
shall have soothed the irritated nerves and 
permitted reason and charity to ascend the 
throne. I would wait till the mood of con- 
ciliation came to my rescue, and if this mood 
did not come I would never answer the letter. 
It is better not to write at all than to write in 
kind when you are made the victim of an unjust 
attack. 

I wouldn't turn my back on the poorest 
pilgrim who ever trod the earth if I could be 
of help, but help is of various kinds. The 
best help is to help others to help themselves; 
the most pernicious help is that which creates 
dependence, and makes the recipient more 
helpless. 

I wouldn't judge an act without knowing 
the motive, and I wouldn't judge a motive 
without knowing the facts. Even so, truth is 
more subtle than fact, and I should want to go 

Page Thirty-seven 



farther and know the truth. Then I wouldn't 
judge without thinking twice, and after I had 
thought twice I should hope that I wouldn't 
judge at all. 

I wouldn't weep over the unavoidable. 
Hard as it sometimes seems, it is never made 
easier by lamenting, and the energy used in 
regrets is worse than wasted. 

I wouldn't wish too much for wealth; 
instead of wishing and waiting I would go out 
and get it. Wealth is wonderful when it is 
properly used, but the struggle for wealth 
merely for the wealth's sake is folly. 

I wouldn't be worse than a bear; a bear is 
true to his friends, and honorable with his 
enemies. He never goes out of his way to look 
for trouble nor does he shirk it when it comes. 
He is for the most part a better philosopher 
than you or I. 

I wouldn't weave a web of imaginary wrong 
and embroider somebody's name on it; I would 
wear my true colors and look every man in 
the face. 

I wouldn't willingly give offense to the most 
offensive; I wouldn't retaliate with the most 
treacherous; I wouldn't fawn on the most 
effusive. 

I wouldn't live a life of distrust, or doubt, 
or suspicion, or envy, or hate. I would live 
out in the open with the sunlight of heaven 
bathing my brow, and my heart attuned to the 
beneficence and grandeur of the spheres. 

I wouldn't spend my energy in righting 
fancied wrongs, or in reforming those who are 
better than I. I wouldn't preach reform, and 
practice perfidy, and meanness and deceit. 

I wouldn't set myself up as an example to 
others till first I had proved that I was better 

Page Thirty-eight 



than others, and, second, that others needed 
an example. 

I wouldn't harbor a mean thought lest that 
thought turn on me and rend me like an 
inward claw. 

I wouldn't yield my sovereignty of soul to 
the lure of worldly lust, nor float on the tide 
of a false faith to escape the duty of good 
works. I wouldn't hide behind a belief unless 
that belief were backed by deeds, and I 
wouldn't lament even though I could not 
believe if only I were permitted the privilege 
of doing. 

And last of all I wouldn't flaunt my troubles 
to the world, but baring my breast to the blast 
I would resolutely face the portion which fate 
had in store for me, and plod patiently on to 
the end of the winding road. 



Do good at every opportunity — you never know how few 
chances may be left. 

Page Thirty-nine 




Perseverance 



NE of the greatest factors of success in 
life is perseverance. To keep ever- 
lastingly at it is to win. The man 
who sticks at one thing only long 
enough to get^^ acquainted with the 
angles of the game and then drops it is paying 
rent all his life — that is, he is paying rent or 
moving — while the man who perseveres owns 
his own home, and probably is collecting rent 
or interest. He is independent and does not 
have to dance to the tune of the landlord's 
fiddle. 

"Be sure you are right, then go ahead," and 
keep going till you get there. If you stop half 
way, be certain you have gone the hardest part 
of the journey, and will fail to reap the reward. 
It takes courage and determination sometimes 
to persevere in the face of obstacles, but to 
develop such courage is to lend strength to 
your character. If you learn the lesson of 
perseverance, you have a liberal education, and 
it is an education that every one may acquire. 
It doesn't call for school funds or hamper the 
taxpayer, and the only teacher you need is 
yourself. 

If Christopher Columbus had not perse- 
vered in the face of opposition from those about 
him, or if some other man later had not per- 
severed in face of the same kind of opposition, 
you and I would probably have been born in 
some such incongruous country as Europe, 
Asia, or Africa — or more likely we would never 
have been born at all. Think of what a per- 
fectly dreadful calamity that would have been. 

When tempted to quit, just take a fresh 
hold and lift the harder. The plodder with 
average ability will distance the brilliant 

Page Forty 



quitter nine times in ten — or in ten thousand. 
If you meet an obstacle, do not attempt to go 
around it, but climb right over it. The boat 
which attempts to go around a wave in a 
heavy sea gets swamped. Learn to climb. 

If you have a good thing, stay with it till 
you make it better, and even if it isn't so very 
good, stay with it till you make it good. The 
greatest need of the world is development, and 
things cannot be developed without perse- 
verance. The jumping Jack — or Bill — or 
Tom, who flits from one activity to another 
seldom lands squarely on his feet. He is 
usually looking for a soft spot to light, but the 
soft spots were all appropriated long ago. 
The only way to find a soft spot now is to make 
it soft by repeated impact. Keep pounding. 
The iron may not always be as hot as you 
would like but remember that many of the 
opportunities of life weld cold. 

Aiming high is most honorable, but stopping 
short of the summit is disgrace. Some men 
when they begin to see the rays of light over 
the crest of the hill get dazzled, and sit down 
on a mossy bank to breathe and exult. By the 
time they have rested and resumed the journey, 
they find the point of vantage on the top 
already occupied by the plodder. Keep at it 
while you are under way. To stop and start 
again — even if you ever do start again — is a 
waste of energy. It is lost impetus, and 
impetus counts in the home stretch. 

Keep the machine moving while the bear- 
ings are warm enough to soften the oil. It is 
time to stop when the journey is ended, the 
work done, and the summit reached. 



Page Forty-one 



An • Open • Letter • to * the 
Trained 'Nurse 

My Dear Girl: 

I have seen you bending over a sick bed, 
so absorbed in your work that you were 
oblivious to everything else in the world except 
that one supreme thing — your duty. I have 
seen you under the stress and strain of endless 
watching and waiting, with your eyes concen- 
trated on that pale form lying in the bed. 
I have seen you tiptoe around the room as 
noiselessly and unobtrusively as a spirit from 
another world, breathing a blessing in your 
every move; and when I have seen all of this 
I have worshipped you — worshipped you more 
fervently than any of the famed Goddesses of 
ancient times. I have said to myself: "Could 
devotion be more sublime?" And I have 
answered "No." 

You have robbed illness of much of its 
horror, and rendered tolerable the bed of pain. 
You have taken the sting from sickness, and 
much of the sadness even from bereavement 
itself. You have sanctified the issues of life 
and death, making life more livable and death 
more bearable. You have glorified service, 
giving it a grandeur undreamed of in the marts 
of trade, where men work by the clock, and 
merely for the wage. 

Your deftness, your alertness, your intui- 
tion, your devotion — all of these appeal to me 
and give me more faith in human kind. You 
add to one's reverence, to one's hope, to one's 
confidence. Yours is the great gift of minis- 
tration and helpfulness; of bringing good cheer 
and happiness — happiness even in sorrow. 

You have learned how to serve, and in 
service there is the greatest joy. You have 

Page Forty-two 



learned unselfishness, and unselfishness is the 
supreme achievement. 

To you is given the sacred mission of 
soothing aching nerves and fevered brows; of 
changing hideous night into the dawning of a 
better day. You quiet fears, dispel doubts, 
and drive despair from many a palsied heart. 

You visit the hovel of the poor as well as 
the palace of the rich, and you mete out to 
both the best you have. In this you are more 
than human — you are divine. 

I am not grotesque enough to allot to you 
the attributes of a deity, even when I say 
that you are divine. But you are something 
better. You are doing a definite, tangible 
good to humanity every day you live, while 
some of the deities I have read about float 
merely on the evanescent ether. 

If I were ill I would rather have your soft 
magnetic hand on my burning brow than to 
have a myriad prayers said over me. Prayers 
might not be answered, but the hand would 
always soothe. 

I have often thought how difficult was your 
work, how wearying, how nerve-racking. You 
are dealing all the time with the abnormal — 
the unnatural. Every individual who is ill 
lacks balance in some respects. It may be 
only physical balance, but more frequently it 
is both physical and mental. And you are 
expected to be superior to all this abnormality 
— you are supposed to bend yourself to every 
whim of your patient, however foolish, absurd, 
or even brutal it may be. In every case of 
serious illness you are the sacrificial lamb — on 
you falls the chief burden. 

But this should not depress you or make 
you resentful — it should glorify you and make 
you thankful. The highest function of hu- 

Page Forty-three 



manity is to minister unto others, and if the 
ministration is made doubly difficult, the 
achievement is doubly worthy. To overcome 
against great odds is the supreme test of 
character, and to do this in the quiet of the 
sick-room, where the world is not looking on 
— where the reward must come from inward 
satisfaction instead of outward show — this is 
the acme of sanctified service. 

And in this there lies the greatest reward — 
greater even than the crowning of kings. 
When you lay your head on the pillow to 
snatch a few fevered hours of rest, your cot by 
the bedside is more hallowed than the couch 
of a queen. And when you rise from the 
all-too-limited respite, and dash some cooling 
draught on your face to revive your lagging 
energies, and come smiling and fresh into your 
patient's presence you are a heroine more truly 
than any of the fabled heroines of old. 

I admire you not only for what you are 
but for what you do. You are accomplishing 
something of signal benefit in the world, and 
doing it so quietly that the world too fre- 
quently takes little note of what you do. To 
be sure your calling has been pronounced 
useful but it is something more than that — it 
is sublime. It prolongs human life and makes 
the pathway more pleasant, more secure. It 
robs illness of much of its dread, and changes 
terror into calm. 

If all the nurses were suddenly eliminated 
from our social fabric it would create con- 
sternation and end in panic. Many people 
would die who otherwise would live — many 
would suffer who otherwise would be free from 
pain. You are thus a distinct asset to our 
civilization — in short real civilization would be 
impossible without you. 

Page Forty-four 



' But be careful. With all your exaltation 
of occupation you are in danger — danger not so 
much of physical harm or of disease as of mental 
and emotional warping. How difficult it is 
when you are dealing each day with the 
whims, the unreasonableness of people not to 
take on some of the same mental strabismus. 
To deal always with the abnormal tends to 
bring about abnormality in one's self; to cope 
with distortion of vision tends to distort one's 
own. 

You are treated badly at times, unworthily, 
wrongfully. Never mind. It is always due 
to one of two things — either to the fact that 
the people you serve are not responsible through 
their abnormality, or that they are by nature 
overbearing, supercilious, and altogether un- 
lovely. In the first instance you can afford 
to overlook the wrong on account of the 
circumstances; in the second you cannot afford 
to bring yourself to the level of the wrongdoer 
by retaliating in kind. Just smile and do 
your duty, and the triumph will always be 
yours. 

But I am not to give you advice, nor to 
suggest lines of procedure. You know your 
special environment better than I, and you 
also know how to proceed. My sole object in 
writing is to bring a word of commendation 
into an exacting calling, and to try to make 
your pathway more pleasant by showing you 
how much your service means to human kind, 
and how much your efforts are appreciated by 
one who has had occasion to observe. 

I give you greeting and my best blessing. 

C. N. J. 



Page Forty-five 




Seeing * the * Other • Fellow s 
Point of View 



!)HE most difficult thing for the average 
human being to do is to look with 
sufficient breadth at any question to 
see the other fellow's point of view. 
If this could be done there would be 
fewer law suits and an altogether better 
understanding between men. There seems to 
be inherent in our nature somewhere a selfish- 
ness which narrows our vision and makes us 
see only one side of every question under con- 
sideration — the side which most favors our 
own interests. If a man is perfectly honest 
with his fellow man as well as with himself 
there need be no necessity for onesidedness. 
Putting yourself in the other fellow's place 
and imagining how you would feel is wonder- 
fully good practice, and tends to broaden the 
vision. It is also quite likely to develop an 
abounding charity which reduces friction and 
lends harmony to the affairs of life. What we 
most need in dealing with our fellow man is 
charity. It is the sweet savor which perfumes 
our acts, the cordial which quickens our sym- 
pathies, the sedative which soothes our aching 
nerves. It reduces the theory of living amicably 
with our fellows to a science, and makes life 
really worth while. 

Above and beyond all the petty gains of 
personal advantage there looms the magnificent 
manhood of him who would grant his fellow 
man the privilege of having an opinion of his 
own. He who would usurp to himself the 
right to dictate to others and direct their acts 
has not sufficient breadth of vision to entitle 
him to the prerogative of being a dictator. 
He is usually an unbalanced and unsafe man. 

Page Forty-six 



He who recognizes that there are other 
interests than his own, that he is only one of 
a great many other human beings who have 
been placed here to work out their destinies 
together, and who grants to others every privi- 
lege that he claims for himself, — he is a power 
for good in the world even though he may be 
only an obscure cobbler quietly working at the 
bench. 

It would sometimes seem as if the world 
were all selfish and intolerant, but this is only 
because these attributes are apart from the 
natural order of things and are conspicuous 
because of their unnaturalness. Most men 
wish to do right by their fellow men, but their 
vision becomes perverted and narrow through 
human limitations and they fail in their ideals. 
One of the chief factors in correct living so far 
as it relates to our intercourse with mankind 
is in being able to widen our horizon suffi- 
ciently to look on all occasions at the other 
fellow's point of view. 



It is sometimes easier to do the right thing than it is to 
know what is the right thing to do. 

Page Forty-seven 




Wanted — A • Sense ' of 
Integrity 



i'HAT the world needs more than 
anything else at this time is a higher 
appreciation of the virtue and value 
of integrity. Men skim along day 
after day on the ragged edge of 
dishonesty, content only if they can keep 
within the letter of the law while flagrantly 
violating its spirit. The fundamental basis of 
true success is honesty, but there seems to be 
an impression abroad in the land that this old- 
fashioned statement is out of date. Sharp 
practice seems to be the watchword of the 
hour, and there are men in the world — many 
of them — who apparently believe that this is 
necessary in order to get ahead in life. The 
grocer gives short weight, the butcher misrep- 
resents the kind of steak he is selling, the dry 
goods man palms off an inferior article, the 
carpenter puts rotten lumber in your building 
if he thinks he can hide it from view, the painter 
uses an inferior quality of paint and charges 
for a good quality, the laundress puts chemicals 
in the wash to make her work easier and ruins 
your clothes, the cook connives with the 
delivery boy to rob you, the butler breaks your 
choicest dishes and surreptitiously flings the 
pieces in the garbage can, and the grafter lies 
in wait for you in every relation of life. From 
the politician who steals the taxes you pay to 
the waiter who works you for a tip — it is 
graft, graft, till the hydra-headed monster has 
crept into all pursuits. The labor unions are 
saturated with it and some of their leaders 
unblushingly levy tribute from helpless builders 
and manufacturers in a way that would put to 
shame the boldest buccaneer of ancient days. 

Page Forty-eight 



The big corporations reek with it, and even 
the professions are not exempt. The shyster 
lawyer connives with a willing victim to trump 
up a case against a reputable citizen and takes 
it to court on a contingent basis. The surgeon 
— worst graft of all — pays a commission to the 
general practitioner for referring cases and then 
cuts up people who would be infinitely better 
without the knife. The dentist dupes the 
ignorant with the lure of "whalebone" teeth, 
"painless dentistry" and "four dollar crowns," 
getting the victim to the office and then 
squeezing every penny from him by all sorts 
of subterfuge. 

Everywhere, into all avenues of effort, the 
game of wits has entered without the leaven of 
a basic and fundamental honesty to preserve 
the equity of things and give the affairs of 
life stability. And what is the result? Look 
at the business world. It is said that more 
than ninety per cent of business men fail or 
go bankrupt at some period of their career. 
This is, of course, not in every instance due to 
dishonesty, but it is safe to say that the vast 
majority of cases of failure may be traced 
directly or indirectly to questionable methods. 
The fault may not be personally in the man 
who fails, but somewhere in the conduct of his 
affairs there is a false standard to account for 
the failure. 

If we look carefully into the history of 
those great mercantile and manufacturing con- 
cerns which have stood out so signally suc- 
cessful during an extended period of time we 
shall find that their methods have been based 
on the strictest integrity in dealing with the 
public. Instances might be mentioned by the 
score of houses of national and international 
reputation which have stood the test of money 
stringency and panics, serene in their solidity 
and secure from waves of business depression 

Page Forty-nine 



and external turmoil. In every case their 
chief asset is the reputation gained for honest 
methods which have made them financially 
strong. 

And what is true of concerns is true of 
individuals. The greatest asset any man can 
have is a reputation for sterling integrity, and 
this fact should more and more be impressed 
on the youth of our land. The world needs 
men of honesty today as it never needed them 
before, and there is a greater premium on it. 
The boys and girls of the present should be 
taught by precept and example that the chief 
aim in life is to adhere to the strictest line of 
correct living, that this kind of life brings its 
ample reward, and that any deviation from it 
inevitably brings its penalty. To have in- 
grained in the mind of a youth this one prin- 
ciple is equivalent to giving him a liberal 
education — without it his education is never 
complete. 



// / have a fault and know it, and do not try honestly to 
overcome it, I am a wicked sinner. 

Page Fifty 



My -Pledge 




'IRST I pledge myself not to continue 
to think ill of any man. That I shall 
at times and on the impulse think ill 
of people is only an evidence of my 
own frailty, and this I pledge myself 

to overcome in so far as I recognize it, and as 

soon as I recognize it. 

I pledge myself to help the unfortunate to 
help themselves, but I shall not add to their 
misfortune by assuming a burden which 
properly belongs to them. If perchance I am 
stronger than others I shall not vaunt my 
strength by a vulgar display of paternalism 
over them. If I am weaker than others then 
shall I not cringe at their feet by permitting 
them to accept a responsibility which is mine. 

I pledge myself to independence and self- 
reliance except where the fact of leaning on 
others is for their needed development. I accept 
my own destiny without fear or favor.^ 

I pledge myself to tolerance, except that 
I must not be tolerant of anything in myself 
which is low or mean or which I should not 
wish the world to see. 

I pledge myself not to offend others unless 
by thus offending I may show them a real 
fault and affect a real remedy. I shall criticize 
no man for the sake of criticism but I shall 
not withhold criticism where it will do good — 
the only condition being that I must first be 
sure that it will do good. 

I pledge myself not to judge any man by 
external evidence, not failing to remember 
that there is little evidence which is not 
external. 

Page Fifty-one 



I pledge myself to try to do some good deed 
each day whereby my fellowman may be made 
happier, and I make this pledge realizing the 
exceeding great difficulty of fulfilling it owing 
to the rapid succession of days and the natural 
laxity of human nature — my own in particular. 

I pledge myself to think good thoughts in 
so far as I can control my thinking, not for- 
getting that I must change my thinking fre- 
quently to keep this pledge. 

I pledge myself to look on all sides of every 
question which may come up for my considera- 
tion, studiously avoiding the practice all too 
common of seeing only one side of a question 
— the one which is to one's own individual 
advantage. 

I pledge myself above all things not to 
make myself a burden to others by magnifying 
my misfortunes or by constantly complaining 
at fate. The ills I have I shall strive to bear 
patiently, and seek to hide them from the 
world. 

I pledge myself to live a clean life, not 
merely upright in the eyes of the law but ful- 
filling as nearly as I may the essence of right 
living as embodied in love, charity and justice. 

And I make no further pledge, conscious of 
the fact that my natural limitations will make 
it sufficiently difficult to live up to these. 



Never condemn a man totally till you know him. 
Page Fifty-two 




The Old 'Home 



^HE other day I passed the old home 
where I was born. I went in that 
unique and ancient conveyance a 
horse and buggy, and the experience 
was novel. The distance was only a 
few miles but the time seemed interminable. 
How slowly those great thin buggy wheels 
revolved, and how primitive the horse looked 
as he jogged along. In one way it was sooth- 
ing, leisurely and comfortable; in another it 
was almost unbearable in its seeming waste of 
time. In one way it was the obvious and 
natural, in another it was horribly grotesque 
and strained. 

One moment I found myself relaxing and 
looking reminiscently over the familiar objects 
along the roadside, the next I was keyed up 
with a frantic desire to press my foot on the 
accelerator and skim blithely over the ground. 
It was a mixed experience — an attempt to 
blend the old with the new, and make them 
harmonize. Never in all human history has 
there been so rapid and complete a transition 
as there has been from the horse-drawn vehicle 
to the automobile, and yet I found myself a 
short time ago looking with longing eyes at 
a beautiful horse. The world will never be 
quite the same to those of us who have loved 
horses as it was before, and yet which one of 
us would go back to the days before the auto- 
mobile? It is merely a readjustment with the 
old not quite forgotten, and the new not quite 
mellowed down and reconciled. 

The old house has stood there for more 
than sixty years, and it begins to look the part 
it has played. Some of the shingles are 
missing, and there is not a vestige of paint left 

Page Fifty-three 



on the exterior. It is weather beaten, and 
leaning a bit out of plumb. I am sure that a 
loose board here and there must rattle in the 
wind, and the tall grass has grown up in front 
of the doorway. 

The path leading from the house to the 
little gate is obliterated, and, worse than all, 
the splendid trees on either side of the gate 
have been ruthlessly slaughtered, because for- 
sooth they shaded the ground and were charged 
with preventing the full yield of the land. 
Had I been favored with the emotions of a 
woman I should have wept at the barrenness 
left by the loss of those dear old trees. The 
man who did it was a practical man, and I 
suppose I should not complain because he fits 
so perfectly into the spirit of the age. And 
yet to me it seemed almost sacrilege to cut 
down those superb and towering trees that 
had waved their banners so bravely for half 
a century or more. It is only typical of the 
tendency which sacrifices the traditions and 
sentiments of the past for the seeming neces- 
sities and utilities of the present. 

The old home is untenanted today save 
by the hallowed memories which linger and 
echo within its walls. How I wanted to open 
the side door and go browsing around among the 
familiar rooms, how I wanted to climb the stairs 
and look out the east window where the old 
manse used to be and then walk across the 
chamber and look out the west window. But 
the doors were locked and the keys were held 
by an alien hand — the old house had "gone 
out of the family." 

As I drove away I fell to dreaming — 
dreaming of other days before life became 
serious and when the problems were all in the 
future. I dreamed of lightness and laughter, 
of the crackle of wood fire, and the hum of 

Page Fifty-four 



many voices. I dreamed of the patter of 
raindrops on the roof ir summer and the swirl 
of snow along the eaves in winter. I dreamed 
of warmth and cheer inside, and the jingle of 
sleighbells out of doors. I dreamed of the 
beaten path to the barn, and the odor of new 
mown hay in the loft. I dreamed of the maple 
bush where in early spring I was cradled in a 
bucket made for sap. I dreamed of the long 
autumn nights, and the glorious sunsets over 
winter snows. I dreamed of the old manse 
down the road, whose massive bulk looms large 
in my boyhood's mind. 

But gone is the manse, gone the maple 
bush, gone the flowers which flecked the yard 
save a few stray patriarchs forcing their per- 
sistent heads among the rank grass, gone the 
life and gayety of the place, and nothing left 
save a subdued and tender memory. Gone 
also are some of the old familiar faces who 
brightened the days of the long ago — gone 
where the summer sun beats down, and the 
winter snow piles up over the mounds in the 
little white village on the hill. 



For what infirmities I have I pray to be conscious of 
them only in so far as I can remedy them. 

Page Fifty-five 




A • Cure • for • the * Blues 



HAVE tried all kinds, from travel to 
calomel, and from horseback riding to 
the latest opera ; but I have never found 
anything which so nearly proves a 
specific as the simple expedient of work. 
I have worked myself out of many a desperate 
mood, and I have never been able to cure 
myself by any other method. I wish some one 
would tell me why it is that an ordinarily sane 
individual will find himself in such a depressed 
mood at times that there does not seem to be 
a bright spot in the world anywhere. And 
the strange part of it is that it so often comes 
upon a man when there is apparently no good 
reason for it. He may be prosperous, he may 
feel well physically, he may have friends on 
every side, and yet he may be suffering from 
such a mental strabismus that he can see 
nothing in life worth the living. We are a 
strange bundle of inconsistencies. 

Some people cling to life under the most 
discouraging and adverse circumstances, while 
others with everything apparently in their 
favor, grow pessimistic and commit suicide. 
The most cheerful individual I ever saw was a 
man who was so crippled that he was literally 
bent double. When he attempted to walk the 
top of his head nearly touched the ground, and 
in order to hobble along he was obliged to use 
his hands more than his feet, and to twist his 
head around to one side in the most painful 
way to see where he was going — his face being 
presented to the rear and his eyes upside down 
on account of his deformity. And yet I have 
seen this man come down town on the street 
car — he usually rode on the front platform — 
and make his way grotesquely to the sidewalk 
and up the street in all kinds of weather, as 

Page Fifty-six 



full of business as any one. And I never saw 
anything in the way of a frown on his face, 
never saw the slightest indication of pain or 
impatience, never heard that he ever made a 
murmur. With everything apparently against 
him, he seemed to get the most out of life. 

And I have seen malcontents of the meanest 
type with privileges that a prince might enjoy 
— but that is another story. 

I started to write of a cure for the blues. 
When you are blue get down to good, hard 
work, physical or mental, and work till you 
are tired; then remember one thing and dwell 
on that until you begin to see daylight ahead. 
Remember that no matter how blue you feel 
the cause is in yourself, that the good old world 
wags along the same as ever, that your friends 
love you as much and your enemies do not 
hate you more. Be brave, fight the battle 
manfully with yourself, and your blues will not 
last long. 



One who has never suffered has never fully developed. 
Page Fifty-seven 




Respect • the • Rights 
of 'Others 

>HIS is the hardest lesson in life to 
learn — and the most important. If 
it could be learned by everybody the 
machinery of human affairs would 
move more smoothly. To respect the 
rights of others is fundamental. It starts at the 
very basis of justice in all the dealings of life. 
It is elemental, because it is the first law in 
the intercourse between man and man. Why 
do we find it so diifficult to learn this lesson? 
It is all answered in a single word — it is sel- 
fishness. The man who comes the nearest to 
getting selfishness out of his heart comes the 
nearest to being a full-fliedged man. 

To put yourself in the other man's place is 
the one sublime achievement. To sink self in 
the common cause and realize that you are 
only one atom in the great moving mass of 
humanity is to get the right perspective, and 
to place your feet on the solid rock. When a 
man deals unjustly with you, stop and think. 
Try to see his point of view, and mayhap you 
will find that he is not so unjust as you had 
thought. Even if he is unjust, give him the 
benefit of believing that he does not realize 
it. If necessary to correct a wrong that he 
has done, approach the problem with charity 
and loving kindness, and not with a bludgeon 
in your hand. To knock a man down is not 
to convert him to your way of thinking, but 
to give him the pretext for knocking you down 
in return. Neither one is benefitted thereby 
and both are injured. If a man will not 
reason with you, let him alone. If you can- 
not convert him do not condemn him. If you 
cannot make him think as you think, remember 
that every man is given the inalienable right 

Page Fifty-eight 



to think for himself, and you should not be 
insistent in forcing your point of view on others. 

You cannot reason with a venomous rep- 
tile, but you can respect his rights and keep 
out of his way. If he gets in your way and 
impedes the progress of a legitimate pursuit 
in which you are engaged, you may be obliged 
to suppress him for the common good, but 
you should do it for the good and not for 
vengeance. To kill a snake through wanton 
malice is to suffer defeat of principle, and to 
acknowledge the inferiority of your soul. It 
is not well to permit yourself to be bitten — 
the equity of justice does not call for that — 
but better be bitten a thousand times than to 
go about through life ruthlessly trampling on 
the rights of others. You may be bitten and 
survive, but you cannot save your own soul if 
you wilfully and persistently force your opinion- 
ated beliefs on your fellowman. 

Remember, you were not born to sway the 
world. You will do well if you sway the one 
small sphere in which you revolve yourself, 
and you may consider it a triumph if you 
succeed in controlling your own individuality. 
Men will accord you your own rights more 
readily if you respect theirs. There is room in 
the world for all, but he who tries to crowd 
others off the earth is quite likely to be pushed 
over the brink himself. It is the inexorable law 
of "like begets like," which when once learned as 
it applies to our relations with each other, will 
bring about the moral millenium. Think of 
your fellowman as if he were your own brother 
in blood, and accord to him the same right to 
live and have his being as you demand for 
yourself. In this way, and this way only, 
can you move on into that higher achievement 
which is the ultimate of all our earthly efforts. 



Page Fifty-nine 




The • Good • Which * Men * Do 



>HEN Shakespeare made Mark An- 
tony say, "The evil that men do 
lives after them; the good is oft 
interred with their bones," he either 
did it for oratorical effect or else 
he fell far short of being the philosopher we 
have all given him credit for. The exact 
reverse is true. It is the good that is remem- 
bered, and the evil that is forgotten; which is 
a fact carrying with it a compliment to human 
kind. What is more appropriate than to have 
the beautiful mantle of charity thrown around 
us the moment death closes the chapter? In 
life we are aggressive, contentious, and usurp- 
ing; trampling on the rights of others, and 
looking always for an advantage. In death 
we are acquiescent, submissive and non- 
resistant. We are defenceless — we make no 
protest — and it is the good that is in human 
nature which asserts itself at such a time and 
says that we shall not be maligned. Death is 
the great disarmer. All the good we have 
ever done looms up large in the consciousness 
of our friends; our virtues are magnified as we 
lie there mute and helpless. Praise does not 
puff us up, and so praise is meted out to us 
most lavishly. Our faults are forgotten, as if 
we never had them. Our good deeds are rolled 
as a sweet morsel under the tongue, and what 
in life had been taken as the ordinary and 
obvious is now heralded as the unique and 
sublime. Our helplessness shields us from the 
rancor which otherwise might rise against us, 
and we need no advocate in court when the 
world sits in judgment upon us. 

Back across the years of life we had run 
counter to the will of others; we had raised 
contention and excited opposition. We took 

Page Sixty 



it as our birthright to intrude our point of view 
on the world, and we foolishly strove to force 
our ideas into the ascendancy. But death has 
given us absolution, and our faults are not 
held against us. Death pays all our debts, 
and leaves the score-card clean. 

Would it not be well if the world were as 
charitable of men in life as it is in death? 
Why cannot we magnify the good in men 
while they still live? Why cannot we forget 
the ill? 

Mayhap the discrimination in favor of 
death is a compensation of nature to make 
death less dreadful. Mayhap we would cling 
to life more tenaciously, more unreasoningly, 
if death were not the great softener, the great 
solace. Not that it is better to die than to 
live, not that the supreme destiny of man is 
typified by his death; but that when the 
ultimate tragedy comes it is comforting to 
know that it is mellowed by the memory of 
charity and loving kindness. 

In life we are misjudged and maligned, in 
death we are understood and forgiven. The 
good that men do lives after them, which is 
surely incentive enough to make the man who 
thinks of it do all the good he can. 



Let the man who considers himself a saint study some 
of the deeds of men who are called sinners. 

Page Sixty-one 




The • Great • American 
Crime 



^F A DOZEN individuals were seated 
side by side and asked the question in 
rotation: "What is the great American 
crime?" it would be interesting to note 
the various answers. One would prob- 
ably say, "Worshipping the dollar," another 
"Superficiality," another "Rudeness." We 
might expect several to answer that the great 
American crime was the practice of lynching, 
while several others might supplement this by 
affirming that the greatest crime was lack of 
respect for law and order. At least one would 
be found to affirm that snobbery was threaten- 
ing to assume the proportions of a crime, while 
the apeing of aristocracy always has been one. 
Some might go so far as to say that the absence 
of culture as represented particularly in the 
widespread ungrammatical speech of the people 
was a crime, while others would point to a lack 
of taste as illustrated by the blatant display of 
wealth on the part of the newly rich. 

Possibly there might be ground for argu- 
ment in the case of each, and yet to the writer 
there is one American crime which outweighs 
all of those mentioned. Greatly as reform is 
needed in the various American tendencies 
indicated there is still more urgent need for 
reformation in the one about to be mentioned. 
Of all the crimes typified in American life the 
one outstanding and appalling crime is that of 
Wastefulness. 

It permeates the entire fabric of American 
life to the degree that it constitutes itself 
nothing short of the national crime. It affects 
the poor as well as the rich. In fact it would 

Page Sixty-two 



sometimes seem to be even more prevalent 
among the former. And it is all wrong. To 
be wasteful is not the right of any man. Waste 
in its essence is destruction, and to destroy is 
a sin. 

Waste takes many forms. It is not merely 
the throwing away of a crust of bread or rele- 
gating the drippings to the garbage can. It 
is not alone the failure to utilize the usable in 
our domestic and manufacturing commodities 
(a waste which in many of our industries is 
rapidly being eliminated). It is not wholly 
the terrible waste represented by an imperfect 
cultivation of the soil — a waste which on the 
surface seems to stand out above all others. 
It is not only the waste of our forests — the 
precious heritage of which has been handed 
down to us by a beneficent nature, and which 
we have in our criminal wantonness and greed 
flung to the four winds, and committed to the 
needless flames. 

All of these are bad enough and sad enough. 
They clamor for reform at each turn of the 
observant economist, and unless they are 
remedied the penalty on posterity will be 
irreparable. But the worst is not yet. 

If there is a sadness in the waste of material 
things, what shall we say of those other 
entities of human existence, the waste of energy, 
of opportunity, of constructive effort? What 
shall we say of the loss of human life by pre- 
ventable diseases in this country in one year? 
The Health Department of Chicago estimates 
that in this city alone, the cost of three pre- 
ventable diseases, measles, diphtheria, and 
scarlet fever, for a single year amounted to 
$6,569,207! Measured in the sordid estimate 
of dollars and cents alone the toll is appalling; 
but measured in terms of grief and care and 
blighted hopes, of thwarted plans, of cancelled 

Page Sixty-three 



enterprises, of cruel disappointment, of broken 
hearts and barren homes — measured in the 
terrible toll of human misery, and it is stagger- 
ing. When shall the agonized cry of the 
bereaved which goes up day by day reach the 
ears of the people so that they may learn how 
to live and prevent this unnecessary waste of 
human life? 

And then the waste of health, energy and 
efficiency in the child labor of factories and 
sweatshops — a waste which became so appal- 
lingly apparent that it is now in a fair way of 
being eliminated by legislation and restriction. 

And the other waste more grievous and 
unjust than all the rest — trying to remedy a 
wrong of the past by substituting a worse 
wrong of the present — the restriction of trade 
and commerce by unreasonable strikes where 
nothing is at issue except a quarrel among the 
walking delegates themselves, depriving res- 
pectable citizens of rights and privileges which 
properly and inherently belong to every human 
being, ignoring the principles of law, honor and 
justice to carry out some selfish end. This is 
worse than waste — it is criminality. The 
unwarranted limitation of output when output 
'is so sadly needed for the physical welfare of 
mankind constitutes itself a serious handicap 
on progress, and an interference with the 
inalienable rights of every citizen. 

If wastefulness is the great American crime 
then some of the men who precipitate strikes 
for their own selfish ends are among the arch 
criminals of all time. 



/ would be contented if J could make others contented. 
Page Sixty-four 




Nursing * A • Sorrow 

10 NURSE a sorrow is to increase it, 
and make it real. Some people hug 
a sorrow to their heart, and coddle it 
and "roll it as a sweet morsel under 
the tongue." They seem to thrive on 
it, and even to make capital of it. They 
assume that it is their bounden duty to share 
it with their friends, and they are very liberal 
in their distribution of it. They carry gloom 
wherever they go, and leave depression in their 
wake. They accomplish nothing by their 
attitude except to make themselves and other 
people unhappy. 

Supposing you lose a friend, a friend who is 
very dear to you. It wrings your heart to 
suffer the loss, and the world looks bleak, 
forlorn and dreary. The crushing blow is 
almost more than you can bear, and you know 
that life will never be the same to you again. 
It is grief — grief of the poignant kind that 
wrings the heart, and leaves you limp and list- 
less. You are bowed down by your sorrow, 
and you care little for life. There is a break- 
ing of the bonds that held you to the affairs 
of earth, and you find yourself drifting des- 
pairingly, you know not whither. You are 
surprised that the world does not seem to 
realize your loss, that people go on about the 
routine of life as they did before. To you at 
that moment the world seems thoughtless, 
heartless — almost cruel. You wonder why 
people can be happy when there is so much 
sorrow, when so many hearts are heavy. You 
hear laughter and it sounds like hollow mock- 
ery, you listen to music and unless it is sad it 
is out of tune. 

But be assured of this — your point of view 
is wrong. You have been driven out of your 

Page Sixty-five 



normal reckoning by your bereavement, and 
you are no longer balanced. You have for 
the moment lost your perspective, and cannot 
see correctly. The world is not cruel, nor are 
the tunes out of harmony. It is your hyper- 
sensitiveness and the obscuring of your vision 
that constitutes the incongruity. The scheme 
of nature was not that there should be sorrow 
— at least perpetual sorrow — and the world is 
merely trying to make you normal once more. 
If the world fell into your mood and all nature 
put on black because you were bereaved what 
would be the result? Every man's sorrow 
would spread depression, and there would soon 
be no sunshine in life. 

The world is not cruel — it is merely trying 
to help you — and sometimes the task is dis- 
heartening. It all depends on you. If you 
cling to your sorrow you do not lessen your 
load, and you add immeasurably to the load of 
your friends. Shake off your sorrow as an 
abnormality, as something to be overcome. 
Remember that grief is non-constructive but 
always disintegrating. It rends the heart- 
strings out of tune and plants despair where 
hope had been. 

If you must be sad hide it from the world, 
and let the sunshine in. To help yourself out 
of a sorrowful mood plunge into the activities 
of life, and begin to do good to your fellow- 
man. Working for the happiness of others is 
the surest solace in time of trouble, and the 
surest way to happiness for yourself. To 
stoop down and lift a fallen comrade from the 
wayside makes your own heart lighter, and 
tends to the forgetfulness of your ills. 

To nurse a sorrow is to make it grow, to 
overcome it and rise above it is to place your- 
self in harmony with the great fundamental 
principle of life, and make you master of your 
every mood. Think of others and you will 
forget yourself, which is, after all, the chief 
triumph in life. 

Page Sixty-six 




When • I • Grow * Old 



^HEN I grow old I pray that I may 
not grow untidy, that I may not 
exhibit on my garments the grease- 
spots of the last meal, or the last 
score of meals. I pray that I may 
not prate too much of the past — that I may 
live somewhat in the future, and very much 
in the mood of today. When the outlook 
ahead becomes blurred, and I can see only 
what happened in the long ago, then I want 
to turn my eyes to the wall and sink quietly 
out of sight. I pray that I may never be a 
nuisance, so that any shall be glad when I am 
gone. I want to go soon enough that people 
may be just a trifle sorry that I was not per- 
mitted to remain longer — not that I wish 
people to mourn for me, but that I am human 
enough to hope that I shall be missed, even if 
only a little. 

I know that all of this is very foolish — I 
know that it will matter not the least to me 
how people feel about me after I am gone — 
and yet there is this: Others dear to me will 
be left when I have passed away, and for their 
sake I would have people think well of me and 
speak well. It is the best legacy I can leave. 

I hope when I grow old that I shall not 
cling to the same chair always, or that I shall 
not invariably seek the same corner in the 
room, or adhere too tenaciously to any of 
my preconceived habits or opinions. I hope 
that I shall not tell the same story to the same 
people too many times — I trust that my 
memory may prevent me from doing that. 

I hope I may ever be broad enough to look 
leniently upon the other man's point of view, 
that I shall admit in my heart the possibility 

Page Sixty-seven 



that the rising generation is entitled to some 
consideration and respect, that I may even go 
far enough to acknowledge that the men and 
women of the day are perhaps as well informed 
and intelligent as I was at a similar age. This 
it seems to me will be the supreme achievement. 

When I grow old I trust I may be an 
optimist — that in my mind the virtues of the 
past may not obscure the prospects of the 
future — that to my notion all the good in the 
world did not die when I attained my majority. 
I do not wish to feel that the world is on the 
direct downward path to disintegration and 
oblivion just because I cannot sanction some 
of the prevalent practices of the day. I hope 
I shall not hold up my hands in holy horror 
when young people do things that were not 
permitted when I was young. I hope I can 
see that the world moves, and also that it does 
not always move in the wrong direction. I 
want to keep the point of view of youth up to 
the very last. 

In the sternness and stress of life, in the 
sorrows which fall upon mankind at times, and 
particularly during the declining years, I have 
sometimes felt that providence heaped these 
things upon us to make us more resigned to go 
when the final summons came, and yet I 
would rather think that this is not true — I 
would rather feel that in the flotsam and jet- 
sam of life in the ebb and flow of circumstance 
and fate, that these trials were given us to 
make us show our mettle, that they come to 
us late in life that we may be permitted thereby 
to set an example of fortitude and patience to 
the rising generation, that they come when 
we are best braced by experience and by 
philosophy to meet them. 

I hope if I grow old that I shall not exclaim 
over . the infirmities of age. I hope I shall 

Page Sixty-eight 



bear my burdens as patiently as I may, and 
not wring the hearts of my friends by my 
complaining. 

I hope that as I grow old I shall develop 
the softer graces of life and suppress the 
querulousness and irritability which sometimes 
accompanies infirmity. In truth I hope I shall 
never be infirm, but if I do I trust it may 
make me mellow and more patient. When I 
grow old I want merely to ripen and not 
decay — I want to come into full fruition but 
not go too much to seed. 

I trust I may keep my face turned mostly 
toward the east, that I may revel in the glory 
of the rising sun, and see the tree-tops tipped 
with the brilliant hues of hopefulness and 
cheer. And then at last after the "heat and 
burden of the day," when the shadows begin 
to fall and the light to wane I want to gaze 
on the mellow tints flashed up from the 
western sky, and see outlined the forms and 
faces of those I have loved so well — the forms 
and faces of those who have made life sweet 
and precious; and as I quietly float toward the 
brink I want the last lingering look to be into 
the countenances of those rny best beloved, 
and to close my eyes forever with the music 
of their voices in my ears. 



// a man falls, pick him up — do not trod on him. 
Page Sixty-nine 




The • Larger * Vision 

^F THERE is any supreme intelligence 
behind the fact of man's existence in 
the world, the purpose of placing him 
here must have been that he should do 
good and be happy. It is inconceivable 
that any other purpose entered into the plan 
of his destiny. If this be true, then it is well 
for thinking people to consider somewhat care- 
fully why it is that men are not all good and 
all happy. 

Without attempting the solution of so great 
a problem as this in all its bearings, I venture 
to suggest that one of the reasons why man falls 
short of attaining his highest destiny is because 
he takes too narrow a view of things and allows 
minor matters to enter too prominently into 
the affairs of his life. The small distractions 
of everyday experience are too frequently per- 
mitted by his point of view to assume a wholly 
unwarranted magnitude and to materially warp 
his trend of thought and seriously affect his 
happiness. 

While it may be true that the sum-total of 
the average individual's experience is made up 
for the most part of small happenings, and 
while we cannot wholly ignore the little things as 
possible factors in determining one's destiny, 
yet the truth remains that much of the unhap- 
piness in the world is fostered by an altogether 
unwarranted magnification of the things which 
in the ultimate have really little significance. 

If some person says an unkind thing about 
us we are too much inclined to allow it seriously 
to interfere with our happiness. We may be 
deeply hurt and grieve over what we consider 
an injustice done to us, or we may kindle with 
resentment and expend our energy in anger — 

Page Seventy 



either of which needlessly detracts from our 
peace of mind. If we could only stop to reason 
that a slighting remark made by another 
really does no one harm except the one who 
makes it, that injustice of any kind reacts 
mostly on the author, and that the small and 
petty criticisms of thoughtless or even malicious 
individuals never affect in the slightest degree 
the substantial welfare of others, we would not 
allow ourselves to be made unhappy through 
this medium. 

It is something of a revelation to study in 
the light of subsequent experience the history 
of most of the passing events which at the 
moment seem important, and which disturb 
our equanimity. It will be found in the main 
that as time recedes they melt away into 
positive insignificance, which means that they 
were of no real import as affecting permanently 
the current of our lives. The only degree to 
which most of these things can bring us injury 
is as we permit them an entrance into our 
thoughts as disturbing factors. Just so soon 
as we learn to view broadly every question 
which confronts us, to look over and beyond 
the present and gauge it by its ultimate effect, 
just so soon shall we disarm our consciousness 
of many of the petty annoyances which bom- 
bard us in our everyday experience. 

Above all things, if we are to get the most 
out of life and enter securely into the larger 
vision we must assume an absolute mastery 
over resentment against our fellowman. If an 
individual does us a wrong, there are several 
ways of meeting the issue. The one most 
commonly in vogue is to resent it and to pro- 
ceed at once to what in ordinary parlance is 
termed "getting even." There never was a 
more fatal error. Every bit of energy used in 
such an effort is worse than wasted. It may 

Page Seventy-one 



or may not bring injury to the object of the 
resentment, but it invariably does to the author 
of it. No man can attempt to do another 
harm, whether in retaliation or otherwise, 
without seriously injuring himself. And I 
have always been doubtful about the quality 
of satisfaction ostensibly enjoyed by the man 
who triumphs over another in a contest of 
retaliation. To see an individual suffer through 
the agency of our own effort, to see him humil- 
iated and humbled into the dust, even as a 
punishment for a real wrong, is not an inspiring 
spectacle. The better way to meet a wrong 
is either to ignore it, which is often wisest, or 
else to reckon with it merely to correct it and 
prevent its repetition. The reason it is usually 
wise to ignore a wrong is because most of the 
so-called wrongs we suffer are really of little 
significance as affecting our welfare unless — as 
has just been said of the petty annoyances of 
life — we give them entrance into our conscious- 
ness and brood over them. This is especially 
true of all that numerous troop of wrongs 
emanating from the category of the minor 
vices, such as gossip, deceit and envy. If a 
slighting remark is made about us the first 
thing to do is to closely examine ourselves and 
see if the remark may not be true. Our critics 
can sometimes see a fault in us of which we 
are unconscious, and they are frequently of 
real benefit to us in calling our attention to it. 
But if their criticism is manifestly unfounded 
and is simply due to a mischief-making spirit, 
then the surest way to disarm them is to 
ignore it. 

If a real wrong is done us which must be 
reckoned with, the proper spirit in which to 
meet the issue is in tihe line of correction rather 
than of vengeance. We should right a real 
wrong under all circumstances, but we should 
make sure that our motive is above reproach 

Page Seventy-two 



and our actions in accordance therewith. Our 
sole aim should be to prevent a repetition of 
the wrong and thereby improve the condition 
of society — not so much to punish as to con- 
trol. Our whole system of legal procedure in 
the courts of our commonwealth is wrong. 
Even if fundamentally based on justice, as 
they are supposed to be, the practical manage- 
ment of cases in our courts goes so far and 
wide of the mark as to be merely a travesty 
on justice, honor, and the rights of man. The 
ostensible aim of a trial in court is to arrive at 
the truth, while as a matter of fact the real 
aim of the contending parties is to hide truth 
and create prejudice. Nothing is left undone, 
no matter how small, trivial or unimportant, 
to bring about a distortion of facts. The aim 
is not to redress a wrong, but to win a case, 
and in the unholy endeavor to accomplish 
this, irrespective of the merits of the conten- 
tion, all of the viler instincts of humanity are 
abundantly played upon till honor is trampled 
in the dust and the beautiful goddess of justice 
is trailed through the mire of perfidy and dis- 
grace. It is rapidly becoming recognized that 
so far as correcting wrongs is concerned our 
courts are a dismal failure, and all this is 
because of the fact that in legal procedures as 
in most other affairs of life the larger vision 
of equity and justice is buried in the maze of 
petty personal ambition and prejudicial strife. 

In the flotsam and jetsam of the tide of 
human life, it seems inevitable that much that 
is rubbish is cast upon the shore, and this 
rubbish has to be reckoned with. Some of it 
is harmful to the body politic and must needs 
be controlled by law. But in seeking to con- 
trol we should have a care that we do not 
further degrade the baser impulses of humanity 
by carrying to persecution what should only 
be correction. 

Page Seventy-three 



We are all far from perfect and we cannot 
believe alike. This should teach us the sub- 
lime lesson of patience and of charity. We 
should seek to be broad enough to look at the 
other man's point of view and be willing to 
meet him a legitimate half way in any dis- 
agreement. It is often well to get together in 
a difference of opinion and talk face to face. 
Much of the contention among men is due to 
misunderstanding, and much of the misun- 
derstanding could be wiped away if men would 
consent to discuss in a dispassionate way their 
various differences. 

The great thing in dealing with humanity 
is to control temper and develop patience. If 
people are disagreeable with us it may be 
because we do not understand them — let us 
have the patience to look into their motives. 
If they are unreasonable it may be due to a 
mental dwarfing for which they are not wholly 
responsible, and we should accordingly exer- 
cise charity. If they are dishonest it may have 
been brought about by environment, or by 
heredity, or by any of the infinite mazes of 
circumstance or chance which seem to weave 
the warp and woof of many a poor mortal's 
fate. Not that we should countenance dis- 
honesty in any man, but that in taking issue 
with dishonesty we should look beyond the 
immediate act and try to discern the hidden 
spring which formed the motive power leading 
to the transgression. We should aim to cor- 
rect and to prevent, rather than to punish or 
take revenge. 

A larger vision among men will develop 
harmony, and greater harmony will bring more 
certain happiness. There can be, there is, 
no loftier mission on earth for any man than 
to smooth the troubled waters of bitterness 
and strife among his fellows. Take out of the 
world the petty bickerings and small mean- 

Page Seventy-four 



nesses of human experience, the envy, jealousy, 
spite and hatred — tak? these away and human- 
ity could meet the larger issues of pestilence, 
or flood, or disaster or crime with greater 
equipoise and more effectiveness. The spon- 
taneous and magnificent heartbeat of humanity 
which goes out when any great disaster visits 
a community — such, for instance, as the 
Chicago fire, the San Francisco earthquake, 
the Halifax explosion, etc., — is an illustration 
of the unanimity of sentiment on the part of 
the people when moved by a common calamity, 
and yet the pity of our state of society when 
it requires some appalling disaster to give us 
a larger vision of our true function of life and 
make us forego our small contentions. When 
men become broad enough to look out beyond 
self and see the need of harmonizing the great 
chaos of humanity they will not require a 
calamity to stir their souls and fill them with 
loving kindness. 

The chief needs of the human race in small 
as well as large events are unselfishness, charity 
and above all, an abounding love. To be 
unselfish enough to think of the needs and 
rights of others, to spread out through all of 
humanity that delightful self-sacrifice and con- 
sideration which we sometimes see so perfectly 
typified in family groups; to be charitable 
enough to yield to others the privilege of hold- 
ing opinions opposite to those of ours, to 
recognize the fact that we cannot all believe 
alike and that each is entitled to his own 
particular point of view so long as it does not 
work to the detriment of others — these are the 
things which go far to make up that larger 
vision of life which should be the ultimate 
aim of all. But even beyond this, though coin- 
cident with it, even beyond unselfishness and 
charity is that rarer virtue, that loftier senti- 
ment called love — the lever which moves the 

Page Seventy-five 



hearts of men above the sordid things of earth 
and gives us a glimpse of that which we call 
heaven. And who shall define what this thing 
is? We know that one man is better than 
another because he has more love in his heart 
for his fellowmen. We call it sympathy, 
affection, tenderness of sentiment, but it is 
more than this. Love is the embodiment of 
all the higher virtues merged in one; it is 
subtler than the ether of the air, and more 
tangible than the glint of gold. It makes gods 
of men and even diefies the birds and beasts. 
It weaves its spell o'er creeping vine and virile 
oak, o'er ocean's mountain wave and the tiny 
ripple of a brook. It descends into the shades 
of valleys, and climbs the highest glistening 
peaks. It soars aloft into the haze of clouds 
and goes down with men to the nethermost 
depths of the caverns of the earth. 

Love is the one great hope of the world. 
Without love we are cinders, dust and ashes; 
with love we are the essence of all there is of 
life. 



Good deeds and bad deeds do not always seem to bring 
their reward, but in some aspects life is not so short after 
all, and who shall say that somehow, somewhere, sometime, 
in the flotsam and Jetsam, all things are not finally adjusted 
by the inexorable law of compensations. 

Page Seventy-six 



